


Falling pianos

by milnor



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Confessions, Drinking, Getting Together, Harvard student Hoshiumi, M/M, MIT students Goshiki and Shirabu, Pining, Swearing, kind of slow burn, other secondary characters and pairings, sweetness afterward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26714536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milnor/pseuds/milnor
Summary: Among all sorts of weird hacks and traditions at MIT, the Piano Drop was certainly the most spectacular, if not destructive.So was thinking Goshiki, freshman, eyes glued to the old piano ready to fall from the sixth floor, and not to Shirabu, sophomore, much too handsome and mysterious for his own good.Little did he know that this year’s drop was going to change his life.Or: a treasure hunt across Boston.
Relationships: Goshiki Tsutomu/Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	1. Prologue—The Drop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreemy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreemy/gifts), [xoratari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xoratari/gifts).



> I wanted to write something short and sweet but it got out of hand…
> 
> Thanks dreemy for your drawings and positive energy!  
> Thanks leah, with love.  
> Thanks whoever reads this, you’re the best!
> 
> Feedback and comments are greatly appreciated!  
> (Should I release daily or every other day? Hm…)

A rough, crashing sound reverberated from the foot of Baker House, and from the cheers of the little crowd, everyone on campus knew this was it, the old piano had been dropped off the roof.

Goshiki, ears pricked up to seek something musical about the way the piano had crashed, maybe even a note from the strings, cheered along, a hint of disappointment in his voice. The six-story drop had only made a loud _bang_. There was no time to feel bad, however, about the lack of melody in smashing an old off-key instrument. After some excited freshmen rushed to the wooden remains, everyone else quickly gathered around and began to take pictures or feel about in the grass for shattered keys, springs and other coveted pieces.

“I got a hammer! I got a hammer!” Tendou cried, holding a shard victoriously above his head, and no one was really surprised that he’d run along freshmen to get more junk to add to his collection. Not that his roommate, Ushijima, would mind much.

In the lively chatter and friendly atmosphere, Goshiki eased his shoulders back a little. He didn’t usually go tense or uneasy in social gatherings, and the Piano Drop was a rather unique tradition; all the more reason to get excited.

But the cute blond he’d been crushing on for almost a year—by which, he meant Shirabu—was there, of course, and this… did not help.

As if fraternity events weren’t stressful enough, now Goshiki would have to steal glances right here out in the open, too.

Preferably without exposing himself too much. Preferably from a nice angle, to catch the soft glimmer of sunlight against golden hair, fair skin and light fuzz almost glowing at the nape of Shirabu’s neck. To catch a smile, maybe a quiet laugh, a subtle squint of the eye when all seriousness slips away and only remains a genuine delicacy, a tenderness, such a rare sight that filled him with warmth and longing and, o—

“Daydreaming again, Tsutomuu…?” 

“Eeh—ah, Tendou-san!” Goshiki startled, caught off guard by a slender hand put firmly on his shoulder. “Got some nice broken bits?” he added loudly.

The smirk faded from Tendou’s face as he held a round-shaped scrap of… whatever material that was before his eyes and started examining it. “Hm. This year’s drop is beyond worthless. Look at that!”

Goshiki nodded, as if he knew anything about the matter.

“Look at the felt! So _cheap!_ Ugh. Is that even wool? Just because they don’t wanna waste anything remotely decent.” Tendou smirked again. “But, hey! Maybe we could sneak in a _real_ piano next time and swap it at the last minute. All it takes is a handful Bakerites and Wakatoshi’s connections…”

“Hm-hm.”

Tendou cocked his head. “What’s up there in that thick skull of yours?” he asked, tapping a finger against Goshiki’s temple. “Have some fun! Get yourself some piano junk that you can show your kids someday!”

Goshiki opened his mouth, confused, but nothing came out. Followed a hearty slap on his back, and the tall, red spiky-haired junior pushed him toward the crowd. “Go!”

“Ah, sure!” he finally blurted out. “Bet I can get a hammer, too!”

_Ugh._ What was that about having kids? What did that have to do with stupid piano parts? What did that have to do with anything? Goshiki kicked an invisible pebble and sighed deeply. Tendou was the nicest guy in the world, but frat brothers could be so much sometimes.

He strolled absentmindedly about the landing zone, occasionally greeting a freshman he knew from volleyball practice; but his attention was divided, subconsciously drawn to where he last saw Shirabu near a maple tree. 

It was at this moment something caught Goshiki’s eye.

A tiny piece of scrap on the ground, somehow shining whiter than the rest in the waning daylight; it was stuck underneath a damaged chunk of the piano frame that looked heavy.

It did not particularly stand out, but from closer, Goshiki recognized the typical blue lines of ruled notebook paper, with characters written on the other side. Weird. A message?

He knelt down and pulled hard on the wooden frame until it lifted, so he could pick up the small bit of paper. Then he unfolded it to reveal its contents.

“Wha—” Goshiki’s heart leaped up his throat.

He quickly stuffed the message into his pocket and looked up and around.

He met Shirabu’s gaze from afar. Or didn’t he? Goshiki turned around as if to follow Shirabu’s glance, and when he turned back, the blond had his eyes somewhere else.

Could it be…?

Goshiki rose back to his feet in a flash, trying his best to steady his heartbeat and, most importantly, not to blush.

_No._

No, that was stupid. _He_ was stupid. There was no way. He was reading everything wrong, as usual.

Goshiki slouched, defeated. 

Still, he kept his hands in his pockets; and for the rest of the day, his mind kept drifting toward the bit of paper clutched tightly between his fingers.


	2. Follow the Rabbit

In a relative quiet under the Great Dome, April’s sun shed its vernal rays through the roof oculus and into the reading room surrounded by white Corinthian columns. Any kind of student activity that took place there would wind down, as though stretched and muffled between thick carpet, squishy sofas and timeless walls; such a cozy setting was noted across campus to be nap-inducing—the well-known Law of Conservation of Sleep not helping—but the silence could also become a weight, and stopping oneself from fidgeting demand a conscious effort.

For the fifth time, Goshiki glanced around and behind himself to make sure no one could read over his shoulder. He paid extra mind to Tsukishima, apparently still absorbed in his study work; to Kindaichi, napping on a sofa, unperturbed by the ambient brightness; and to Kunimi, sitting across the table yet mostly out of sight as separated by one of those mounted acoustic screens.

Goshiki gave a surreptitious sigh, and proceeded to unfold the mysterious message again.

> **gay heart wanted**!HL.QA.76.88.E55.2016+ε **  
> ** _ —a disaster twink _

Goshiki’s heart rate picked up almost instantly as he read, his head a noisy clatter of voices. The first words were, “gay heart wanted.”

_ Gay_.

There was no mistaking it. Goshiki reread the line a few times, as if the little bit of paper was confronting _him_ , him and the fact that in his opinion, Shirabu could absolutely qualify as a “twink”—well, he had the looks, at least.

_ Now, now. Don’t overthink, you dummy. Focus. _

It took him a few flustered breaths to calm down and collect his thoughts. That could very probably be a bad joke. Or a trap. But… something about the message screamed of truthfulness and… yearning? Maybe it’d be worth looking further into.

The handwriting was rather sloppy. Messy, even. There was a little heart in lieu of a dot above the “i” in “twink.” Now, that was only half the message. The other side was blank, so the most interesting bit would be the rightmost one, which looked like some sort of code. Goshiki clicked his pen and copied it down onto his notebook.

> HL.QA.76.88.E55.2016+ε

He pouted in concentration, chin propped up on his left palm.

_ So. _

At first glance, 2016 looked like a year. +ε meant, as he knew from Calculus, “to add a small quantity.” So, 2016 plus a small amount. Maybe that referred to something that happened early 2016? Or maybe that was an old message that’d been stuck in the piano for years? He winced at that last possibility. But then again, the rest of the message had him quite perplexed.

_ Hm. _

After a few minutes of fruitless pondering, Goshiki peered at the broad, gray acoustic screen separating him from his study partner. Kunimi was good at riddles. And smart. Maybe… Goshiki tore a blank sheet of paper off his notebook and wrote the elusive bit of the message on it.

> HL.QA.76.88.E55

Then, he knocked at the screen board.

“Hey, Kunimi?”

Shortly, a shuffling sound was heard, and a questioning head peeked out from beside the screen.

“Hm?”

“I’m trying to find out what this means,” Goshiki waved the sheet in his hand. “Care to help?”

“Sure.”

Kunimi shuffled closer and took the piece of paper.

> HL.QA.76.88.E55

“Where does that come from?”

“Ah! Uh, well. I, uh…” _Quick, think of something!_ “…found a coded note in my locker?”

Kunimi eyed him suspiciously.

“It’s certainly a joke! But I thought it might be worth checking it out just in case,” he added, brows knit; a sharp and determined look always did a good job at fending away any manner of unwanted questions.

“Hmm…” Kunimi pondered, focusing back on the symbols. “That’s not in hex, so it’s probably not related to computers. But these dots… I don’t think it’s coded or anything. Might be a physical address of some sort. Or coordinates. The format doesn’t ring any bells, though, sorry.” He handed the paper back. “Maybe try to google it? And see if it gives anything interesting.”

“Thanks Kunimi!” Goshiki almost shouted, bright grin swift to fade into an apologetic moue at the sound of his own noisy voice, head sank slightly into his shoulders. “Will do!”

_ Of course! It would be coordinates! _

And that meant… a meeting point for a secret date! Goshiki refrained from giving a singsong hum of hopeful delight.

* * *

Googling gave nothing. Thinking about it for hours gave nothing. Every coordinate system, every practicable cipher he found in _The Codebreakers: A Comprehensive History of Secret Communication_ by David Kahn gave nothing. 

Goshiki had spent every last minute of his free time grappling with the message, reading it again and again until he knew it by heart, until the characters were basically carved into his retina. The rest of the week had been crap. He’d had trouble focusing during lectures, got constantly distracted when he ought to be working on term projects, and, worst of it all, it had shown during weekend volleyball practice. And now, surely Shirabu thought he was an airhead. Well, more of an airhead than he actually was. Usually.

Speaking of whom, Shirabu was presently sitting at the table next to Goshiki’s study group, which made him think that there might be some conspiracy thing going on, to keep him from being able to concentrate ever again. And, incidentally, from finishing his team project with Kunimi that was due next month.

It was pointless.

As Goshiki began to lose focus again, his tired eyes wandered over complicated equations and geometric drabbles; then over the pile of books sitting beside Kunimi; and over Shirabu’s study group to catch a glimpse of neatly cut, silken blond hair— _cute_ —and then back to the pile of books, and—

Goshiki squawked.

He so much as _squawked_ inside the Hayden Library—which, otherwise, was very much silent—and in sudden awareness brought both his hands before his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Kunimi asked after a painful pause.

Everyone was looking their way. Tsukishima, shaking his head as he wore his trademark shit-eating smirk. Kindaichi, confusedly worried and concerned. Oh, and Shirabu, too, still an… unreadable expression drawn across his features.

“Ah-um, sorry. Yeah.” Goshiki felt warmth creep up his neck; he coughed some and tried to turn his embarrassment into a scowl. “It’s nothing.”

“Whatever.”

Once everyone had focused back to their studently matters, and the suffocating warmth under Goshiki’s shirt had cooled down a bit, he struggled to steady his heartbeat. _The book._ Right, the book. It was just in front of him, written in a tiny packed font, on the small spine label of Kunimi’s handbook, _Introduction to Algorithms_ by Cormen, Leiserson, Rivest and Stein:

> QA76.6.I5858 2009

Goshiki’s eyes were glued to the sequence, “QA76,” disbelieving.

That was it. It was a book tag.

The string of characters “HL. **QA**. **76**.88.E55.2016+ε,” as he had perfectly memorized, contained a book reference, together with “HL,” which probably meant “Hayden Library,” and “+ε,” which meant “a little more.” All that remained to do was find that book.

He had cracked the code. He had _cracked_ the code!

_ I am a genius. _

A smug, wobbly grin spread across Goshiki’s face despite his effort not to let it show.

There were four libraries on campus, and Goshiki knew well about the Barker Engineering Library—housed under the Great Dome—although he’d never picked up a book there; it was more of a place to study and nap. But if “HL” indeed had meant “Hayden Library,” then he was already at the right place.

He waited for a while, tense and restless, pretending to work—he was utterly incapable of directing any intellectual power toward the term project at this time—until the tension in the air following his loud squawk had eased into nothing but the peculiar lull of gray matter at work; much like the ripples on a mountain lake, disturbed by a skipping stone, spread and stretch and level out and only remains, beneath the frozen surface, the color of depth.

The quiet felt heavy. With every tick of the clock and crackle of paper, with every faint scratching of nibs he was itching worse, and when he couldn’t quite take it anymore, Goshiki mumbled an apology to his partner and got up, setting off on a quest to find the book.

_ But where to start? _

He stood there, running a hand through raven hair cut in a boyish bowl style, and played distractedly with the tuft on the top of his head.

The first characters, “QA76,” were the same as those on Kunimi’s book on algorithms, so he might as well try that first. He nodded to himself, decided, then took upstairs and toward the Computer Science section.

* * *

_ There. _

It wasn’t so hard figuring out how the library shelving system worked. It had taken Goshiki a little bit of wandering around, some fumbling with letters and numbers, and there he was. QA76.88.E55.2016. Very real.

He took the book between restless hands. The title read, _Introduction to High Performance Scientific Computing_ , by V. Eijkhout. An intimidating, five-hundred-something pages work about advanced computing techniques, very possibly not suitable for an undergraduate such as himself.

_ Hm. Now what? _

He opened it, flipped through it, inspected it from every angle, but nothing particular stood out.

_ Unless… _

The last part of the message said, he recalled, “+ε.” In other words, to add a small quantity. What did it mean to add something to a book? Or would it mean… Goshiki looked back at the empty space the book had left on the shelf. And then he noticed another book, sitting right next to it.

_ Oh. _

There was no label on it.

_ Bingo! _

With a victorious smirk and a soft hum, Goshiki placed the computing handbook back on the shelf to take this one instead. Nothing on the spine, nothing on the cover; a suspiciously dull, gray manual. He opened it at random, turned a few pages and…

_ What the hell! _

He almost dropped the thing on the floor. Then, in a rush, he checked his right and left—that was becoming second nature to him. Goshiki sighed, this time loud and deep; if he’d been flustered finding the note among piano parts,  _ that _ right now was on a whole new level.

It was, uh. Rather explicit. Very gay. Quite… creative? It was a miracle Goshiki didn’t squeal. Within his head, however, was quite the ruckus.

_ What the hell what the hell what am I doing where is this gonna lead me what should I do wha— _

He peeked inside again.

_Oh,_ ** _god_** _._

What was that position? He examined the drawing from closer, frowning. Were they really…

_ Hold on. Is that a number drawn on his— _

* * *

Goshiki gave a nod to Kunimi and plopped on his seat, trying to keep up appearances despite his visible exhaustion. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and stared at it.

The “clue” contained in that cursed book had been much easier to figure out. It was collecting the individual numbers, that’d proved, uh… Harder. As it turned out, not all pages were equally as lewd, and only those harboring the most explicitly improbable illustrations hid a digit, scribbled, Goshiki thought, by the same hurried hand that’d written the initial message. Once collected and taken in order, it was clear that all the precious digits assembled into a phone number.

So here Goshiki was, contemplating his phone and his options. 

If he messaged now, he would be giving off his number. That meant, if that was a set-up, he’d be completely screwed. He was young, inexperienced, a naive freshman in a rather expensive college, and as much as it pained him to admit it, he needed his parent’s financial support. He should weigh up the risks.

But well. At this point, and after all the trouble, backing off would taste like defeat. And he wanted to be victorious. He wanted to be cheered, to feel Shirabu’s gaze upon him, trusting, telling him to go wild and deal a crushing blow to the opponent. Yeah, he should take some time to think about it. Plus, it wasn’t as if Goshiki actually _did_ anything; he could always just say he followed the clues because he thought it was fun, and deny everything else. Everything he’d always kept to himself. Everything he never broke to his family, his friends, to… anyone.

_ Oh well. _

He tossed all doubt aside and texted.

[ **You** ]

> (6:31) Hey! I found your message in a piano
> 
> [ _ Sent. _ ]

An odd tickle grew in his stomach, tingling mixture of stress and fear that further carried a lingering tinge of hope and… excitement? He wasn’t given much time to dwell on the feeling, yet, as his phone buzzed a few minutes later.

[ **671-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:36) whats an otter

_ Huh? _

Oh. That was definitely a test. Goshiki knew the answer— _embarrassing! why do you know that?_ a voice inside his head said—and that answer had something to do with the gay culture. He didn’t let his thoughts drift wayward with the storm that racked his mind, however; as his gut feeling told him, he needed to answer quickly.

[ **You** ]

> (6:36) A skinny bear
> 
> [ _ Sent. _ ]

The next message came quicker this time.

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:38) sorry (>w<) had to check

Goshiki lingered on the emote, trying to construct a mental picture of whoever was texting him—it sort of resembled an unrestrained, legible version of Shirabu, he noticed in wishful anticipation—as more messages came in.

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:39) congrats on finding the number ^.^
> 
> (6:39) so what year u in?

[ **You** ]

> (6:40) Freshman

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:40) ohh nice
> 
> (6:41) u out?

Fingers a little feverish, Goshiki typed the answer but didn’t hit “send” quite yet. The part of his brain that was still on the edge reminded him of what he had found: a number hidden in a—compromising—book, hidden in a library; and now _he_ was still inside the library, texting that number, in plain sight. Genius.

_ Calm down. Just answer the damn thing and see where it leads you. _

[ **You** ]

> (6:42) No
> 
> [ _ Sent. _ ]

Few textless minutes lasted an eternity.

[ **You** ]

> (6:49) Are you?

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:51) sry! nah not to everyone
> 
> (6:51) r u cute (^^)ゞ

_ Do not let that creeping warmth take over your stupid face and paint it red. _

[ **You** ]

> (6:52) That’s not for me to say I guess

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:52) aw
> 
> (6:52) u like twinks?

[ **You** ]

> (6:53) I wouldn’t be texting otherwise

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:53) hehe ;3p
> 
> (6:53) what else u like

[ **You** ]

> (6:55) Sports I guess? Can’t say which sport but I was the captain of my high school team. Also I like course 7 and I like it here in Boston! Also I love boiled flounder 
> 
> [ _ Sent. _ ]

_ That was too long wasn’t it? _

_ … _

_ He was asking about my likes in general, right? _

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:56) i luv sports too ヽ(”`▽´)ﾉ
> 
> (6:56) thats so cool!!!! bostons great its like home to me
> 
> (6:57) u must b super fit :P

[ **You** ]

> (6:57) Uh
> 
> (6:57) I mean I need to practice a lot if I wanna be able to hit a real sharp cross
> 
> [ _ Sent. _ ]

_ Shit! I didn’t mean to say I played volleyball! So dumb! _

_ Hopefully he doesn’t know the terms… _

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:58) hey a friends throwing a party this Friday
> 
> (6:58) we'll be like 6
> 
> (6:58) everyones supachill（ 人･ω･)
> 
> (6:58) wanna come
> 
> (6:59) ?

Goshiki leaned back on the chair and rubbed his eyes with his palms. The moment he dreaded had come, but not exactly in the way he had expected. A party? That reeked of a trap.

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (6:59) last chance to chillout b4 exams(#>.<)

[ **You** ]

> (7:01) How can I trust you?

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (7:01) u cant

[ **You** ]

> (7:02) That’s not really fair.. isn’t there a way?

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (7:02) lifes unfair

He looked away with somewhat of a frown. Dark, thoughtful eyes skimmed over Shirabu’s study group as if it had become a habit, and—wait. Was Shirabu texting right now? On his phone?

_ Is it possible that— _

No way. That didn’t make sense. It didn’t _feel_ like Shirabu. They’d barely texted yet Goshiki could tell he didn’t find the same challenge, the same flashing thrill as when he talked to Shirabu, trying to pierce and see through his impenetrable… everything.

Or did he?

Shirabu tucked his phone back into his pocket, and shortly after, Goshiki’s screen lit up.

[ **617-xxx-xxxx** ]

> (7:04) what we can do is meet somewhere open so u can flake at the last minute if u dont feel like it   
>  and then hangout and go to my friend's if u want:3

Goshiki glanced to and fro between the glowing screen and flares of blond, from shining letters back to Shirabu’s locks; under his dark slick hair both reddened cheeks beaming bright from fright.

When their eyes met at that precise moment—because that’s what happened, of course—Goshiki averted his gaze as if nothing special was going on; but he noticed, out of the corner of his sight, that Shirabu had done quite the same.

He texted back with trembling thumbs.

[ **You** ]

> (7:05) Okay
> 
> [ _ Sent. _ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder where this is gonna lead Goshiki…  
> Thanks a lot for your kudos and feedback!


	3. Secret Meeting

Off from the dorms and through Memorial Drive, left past Danforth Street below McCormick Hall, Goshiki walked head high and proud and looking all serious but a mess inside, Shirabu on his heels.

Well. Maybe not on his heels. Following him from a distance, for sure. Or not. Definitely going the same way!

_ What if what if what if_—his mind looped.

Goshiki was sleepless, nervous and overthinking. While he did his possible not to turn around every few steps to glance at Shirabu, the conviction was growing within him, like a gathering cloud on a hot summer day—the promise of rain to kiss and wash and douse his burning skin.

Shirabu _was_ following him.

He was following him and the rendezvous spot was drawing near, dangerously. With every step fueled by renewed excitement, Goshiki took from the main lane toward the first flight of stairs to the right of Kresge Auditorium, and…

There was already someone sitting there.

“Uh,” Goshiki said, confused as his sprightly gait slowed to a regular stroll, then to a hesitant saunter, and then to a halt.

Behind, Shirabu had taken a turn, cutting straight across a lawn, to stride away from where he was _supposed_ to go.

Ahead, a boy with a backpack rose from where he was sitting on the first stair step, all questioning eyes. He had sunset orange hair.

Goshiki faltered.

“Um. The… the message in the piano?”

The boy’s features lit up as he offered his hand.

“Hinata Shouyou!” he said, smile as bright as the sun, “nice to meet you!”

“G… Goshiki Tsutomu, nice to meet you too.”

“Thank you for trusting me!” Hinata said, bowing a little after he shook his hand. “I’m so sorry for all the trouble! It wasn’t my idea actually—well you know not _all_ of it—but if you’re here I guess it worked alright! Can I treat you to a Dunks?”

“I, uh… Oh. Sure,” Goshiki replied.

There was too much going on in his head at this point, and if he listened to any of it, he’d probably get back to his dorm to mope and wail until he filled the Charles River to its banks.

So he just played along, and followed Hinata toward the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts.

* * *

Could the guy be trusted? was it a trap, was it a set-up? what if he got Goshiki outed to his classmates, or frat brothers, or worse, to a relative? None of that really mattered now, Goshiki thought, legs moving automatically, almost despite himself. At first he’d considered ditching the small redhead right then and there and running away to his dorm, but… that was the first time he’d met someone who saw him in “this light”; and he would actually enjoy some company, and listening to Hinata didn’t prove that unpleasant after all… and the boy had a lot to tell. 

“…so difficult meeting new people like us, you know! Especially when they’re not really, um, out about it. And I can’t stand everyone brooding in their corner! When all they have to do is just get out their dorms and just, like, meet up! Like, somewhere safe of course but that’s so frustrating!”

“I thought there was a…” 

“Huh?” said Hinata, looking up with wide, curious eyes.

“You know… a support group or something… at the Rainbow Lounge.”

“Oooh. Y’mean, like a GSA?”

Goshiki nodded.

“Ehh… We don’t really hang out with people from there. It’s kinda complicated.” Hinata noted the way Goshiki’s brows had gone up and said, “Not everybody can afford to be out.” He gestured vaguely. “At least. Not before graduation.”

“You told me you weren’t out to everyone?”

“Yup! Just to a bunch of friends—and to my boyfriend, of course. I think he counts as a friend, though, but um…”

Hinata stroked his chin between his thumb and forefinger, while Goshiki was at a loss for words.

He already had a boyfriend? What? Why would Goshiki be wanted then, as in “ _gay heart wanted_ ”? Wouldn’t his boyfriend mind them hanging out? Shouldn’t he be more cautious if he wasn’t publicly out? None of that made any sense.

Goshiki didn’t voice his concerns, though, lulled as he was by the redhead’s endless display of energy.

“—and anyway I’m trying to meet new people that aren’t out but it doesn’t really work most of the time. Do you want a coffee regular?”

“Ah—oh, sure!”

They were already at the Dunkin’ Donuts—they’d gotten there fast, Goshiki thought, giving the smaller boy a furtive scan. He seemed quite athletic indeed despite the light and youthful appearance; with thighs and calves probably toned by years of running around; the curve of his biceps, lean and smooth, was visible under the hem of his t-shirt sleeves whenever he shrugged.

Hinata took both their orders and they continued their discussion inside the coffee shop—although it mostly consisted in listening to Hinata.

They started back to campus a few donuts later.

* * *

Hinata was kind of cute. In a different way, compared to Shirabu. Not that Goshiki was considering anything, of course, as he’d barely met him, and most importantly, as Hinata’d said he was already dating someone. But the redhead had that forbidden charm, cloaked under a radiant presence with smiling eyes and a peppy voice. He was also, as it had become quite clear by the time, rather talkative. Much more so than it had appeared from their texting—he was absolutely capable of keeping the conversation going all by himself, which Goshiki didn’t mind—quite the contrary.

“…says it’s wicked good! Oh, by the way, what’s your frat?”

“STZ!” Goshiki said proudly.

“What’s that?”

“Ah-sorry, Sigma-Tau-Zeta! We call it S-T-Z,” Goshiki clarified.

“Oooh I see,” Hinata replied, thoughtful, “…hold on.”

He slowed a little.

“Oh my god,” he added in a whisper.

“Uh… Hinata?” Goshiki asked, afraid something was wrong but Hinata’s growing smile said otherwise. “What is it?”

“N-Nothing!!”

There was a broad grin with shining teeth, a shrug, and then they continued walking in companionable silence. It felt strangely warm. Hinata was very apparently eyeing him from the side, something smile-worthy on his mind—not that there was much reason for being made fun of; STZ was notorious and one of the hardest fraternities to get into.

Or maybe that was… admiration?

“Hey. Know what?” Hinata said, “I wasn’t sure at first but I think you’re pretty chill. I told you there was a party tonight, with a few friends… Wanna come?”

Goshiki considered it quietly.

“They’re not as loud as me,” Hinata said. “Well, mostly. But, you can get back to your dorm if you want. I won’t mind! Don’t want you to feel forced or anything.” He pointed his hand to Memorial Drive, where most residence halls stand, and held out his other hand as if to bid farewell.

“No, it’s okay,” Goshiki replied firmly.

Hinata was nice and fun. And there was something queer about him that he was not faking; he could be trusted. Besides, Goshiki was tired of living as a sheep in a pack of wolves, he had nothing much to lose, and at this moment he really wanted to get wasted—not that he had any experience in the matter.

“I’ll go.”

“Alright!! Let’s go to Harvard!”

* * *

They took a bus at the stop near Building 7, leaving its imposing Ionic columns and off to a new universe that Goshiki knew nothing about.

The twenty-something minute ride was oddly relaxing. There was some listening to Hinata’s idle chatter, some dozing off on his seat then waking at a stop, some looking out the window in absent contemplation.

As they got closer to their destination, Goshiki saw, the architecture and brickwork typical of Boston became more and more prominent, a Colonial Georgian style progressively taking over steel and concrete and impersonal constructions, until only remained a long succession of buildings made of warm red brick and white stone trim; white-painted wooden cornices under dark, low-hipped, slate-tiled roofs. It felt out of time, as in pre-industrial, 18th-century London.

They got off at the stop before the historic Harvard Yard but the journey wasn’t quite finished yet; they had to take a short walk again across the campus.

Hinata was such good company that by the time they got to the residential grounds near the Charles River, through green alleys alongside fancy-looking parks and halls, Goshiki was actively involved in the conversation, almost smiling his weariness away.

“What’s with these flags everywhere?” Goshiki said, nodding toward something across the street.

To their left hanging on every lamppost, bright-blue banners read, “Lowell House”; to their right and up ahead, attached to the very façade of the imposing residence hall pierced with white-framed windows and bricks every shade of coral and rust, black flags read, “Winthrop House,” a large red coat of arms emblazoned in the middle.

“Ooh, that! It’s a Harvard thing,” said Hinata. “They got houses!”

“L-like,” Goshiki stuttered, “like in Harry Potter?”

He felt a little silly saying that.

“Yeah!” Hinata sounded amused by the reference. “We usually don’t go there but Hokki’s gotten rid of his roommates for the night! Hokki’s Hoshiumi, he’s a sophomore at Winthrop,” he added, “I dunno anyone else at Harvard but Winthrop dorms are _wicked friggin pissaah!_ ” Hinata said with a weird voice.

“What was that?”

“That was uh… supposed to be a Southie accent.”

Goshiki puffed—that was probably the first time of the day he didn’t fake it—and giggled at the way it came out of nowhere.

The accent wasn’t quite right, as far as he could tell—it sounded more of a stereotypical British than whatever little he had heard of the South Boston dialect; still Hinata looked proud of himself.

“You got a cute smile, you know.”

“Ehh?” Goshiki almost felt his cheeks redden. “No I don’t! Where did that come from? Are you hitting on me or something?”

“Uh-uh! I’m engaged,” Hinata pointed at an invisible ring on his left hand. “Just saying you should smile more, it looks good on you.”

“W-Who’s your boyfriend by the way? Where’s he from?”

“Oooh that would be Kageyama! He’s from MIT—well everyone else is from MIT anyway. He’s the, uh… tall, dark and handsome type—or more like, tall, _grumpy_ and handsome I guess… He’s a softie inside!”

“How did you two… end up together? If you’re not out.”

“Oh, that’s a looong story. We started dating back in high school! We’ve known each other for even longer though, since middle school.”

“…wow.”

“Yeah! But it wasn’t always easy back then. We used to fight a lot.” Hinata sighed and laced his fingers behind his head, elbows out, eyes lost in the sky. “He used to treat me like shit and picked at me all the time. But, um. I guessed we happened anyway.”

“Okay.”

“We had to work our asses off to get here. Or like, _I_ had to work my ass off and go for it, while he had his own stuff to deal with. Life was a mess. And I… wanted to make my own way. I almost went to Caltech! But it didn’t happen after all—and now I treasure every single minute I get to spend with him. We’re there.”

They were facing a massive wooden door, crowned by a yellow-tinted arch window with Victorian street lamps fixed to the walls either side. It looked haughty and austere. Goshiki felt the tingle of stress rush up his chest until it filled his lungs, but he managed to shake it off with a deep breath; he should thank Hinata, always radiating a soothing glow of joyful energy by his side.

“Just don’t get lost into his eyes, they’re _mine_ ,” Hinata said while fishing for his phone in his pocket.

“I won’t!”

Hinata texted, and the door unlocked a few moments later. Then a small, spry looking lad peeked out; he had white feathery hair and wide curious eyes.

“Hi Hokki!” said Hinata.

“Hi fellas! If you’d be so kind,” the other boy said as the door opened wider.

“Goshiki, that’s Hoshiumi,” Hinata said, rushing ahead to throw an arm over his friend’s shoulder. They were about the same height. “Our inside man!”

“Nice to meet you,” Goshiki said as he shook Hoshiumi’s hand, a grip surprisingly warm and strong.

Hoshiumi tipped his chin up and squinted, turning defiant and scrutinizing; intense eyes scanned Goshiki from head to toe, while Goshiki tried to send him back a similar glare. Then Hoshiumi smiled and said, “Nice, nice, hope you liked my drawings!”

Hinata chuckled.

Hoshiumi had a slight accent to his speech that was quite difficult to pinpoint; it contrasted with his neutral yet utterly unreadable expression, in such a distracting and funny way that it took Goshiki a while to process what he’d just said. As understanding dawned upon him—that Hoshiumi had indeed drawn the naughty illustrations he found in the library—heat flushed his cheeks again.

“Come on in! Shy birds are always welcome here,” Hoshiumi said before he freed himself from Hinata’s grip and disappeared behind the Winthrop door, both Hinata and Goshiki on his heels.

“Hey, hey Hokki, you’ll never guess!” Hinata said.

“What?”

“He’s in the same frat as River!”

Hoshiumi marked a pause and turned around, green eyes open wide, or maybe that was their natural way—elegant as they were, ovate lids with a dark shaded rim like a gull’s— _was he wearing eyeliner?_ —“No sir!”

“Yes sir!” said Hinata.

“That’s wicked pissa man.”

Hinata chuckled again, and winked at Goshiki who followed them up the stairs.

_ …River? _

* * *

“Shoes off sirs!”

From the doorway, Hoshiumi’s common room seemed rather spacious except it was packed with cushy furniture, desks, bookcases, velvet chairs and chesterfield sofas and a coffee table; it had corridors in the corners that led to individual bedrooms. There were two tall guys leaning on a bar counter near the entrance, talking casually; their chatter toned down a bit as they tossed the newcomers a distracted eye.

Goshiki took off his shoes and stepped on the fluffy carpet, but before he could get much further, he suddenly felt self-conscious about his socks—a navy blue patterned with tiny sharks. Hopefully… no one would notice.

“Brought some crackers Yamayama!”

Hinata pulled a small pouch out of his backpack and went to put it on the counter.

“What, again? Where did you steal that, dumbass?” one of the tall boys said.

“I didn’t steal it! It was for everyone to take! Ow—Hey! Ugh—alright, it was at Lobby 10… There was uh… a conference. But there was way too much stuff, they were never gonna eat all of these!”

The other tall boy snickered.

“That’s still stealing. Dumbass.”

There was another smack and a smooch, then Hinata told Goshiki, “That’s Kageyama! He’s cool inside!”

“Mr. nice gags,” said Hoshiumi.

“And that’s Kuroo!”

Goshiki greeted both men with a handshake and a small bow.

“Hi, sweetheart! Nice socks!” said Kuroo.

“Ah, uh… I—I forgot I had these, they’re so lame…”

“Of course not!” Kuroo brought a hand to his chest, falsely offended. “’tis but a sign of ecological awareness to put on display, on your very attire, a pictorial representation of an endangered species such as the great white shark; I dare only think what forbidden fauna your boxers might harb—”

“Hey fucka,” said Hoshiumi, “behave and put my guests at ease! You’ve gotten him all red now.”

“I-I’m not red!”

“Oh yes you are!” Kuroo whispered in Goshiki’s ear, “You’re as crimson as a flock of angry cardinals eating tomatoes in the Red Sea,” and then after a few seconds, he burst out laughing at his own joke.

It wasn’t funny, of course, it was silly and unnatural; but Kuroo’s laugh was so obnoxious, so over the top that it got them all chuckling and giggling by the time a new voice broke in.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who said that last line…  
> Thanks again for your feedback!


	4. Unexpected Company

Goshiki froze, and everything went quiet.

 _“What the_ ** _fuck_** _are you doing here”_ —it boomed again in Goshiki’s head. It wasn’t really a question, he reckoned, but more of an incredulous, helpless sort of call.

He turned slowly.

He was met with intense brown eyes under a neat copper-blond fringe parted on the side. Goshiki’s breath cut short.

Shirabu looked good, in beige Bermuda shorts and a dark blue “Hollow Knight” t-shirt. If Goshiki had come to his senses, he’d have thought he couldn’t compare within his own dull outfit—a black polo and colorless jeans.

_What the fuck are_ **_you_ ** _doing here?_

Hoshiumi barged in before long—before the silence could stretch awkward or turn into an argument—, shoved Goshiki aside and stomped toward Shirabu.

“Now, now! It’s getting crowded here, please help yourselves to a drink! You, come with me.” He grabbed Shirabu’s forearm and disappeared with him into one of the corridors.

There was some shuffling around, and Hinata grabbed Goshiki’s wrist and pulled him away and into the common room.

The light was dim and subdued at this hour even with the blinds up and curtains drawn; through two windows the last dusty rays streamed in to blend with the warm glow of silk lampshades inside, filling the air into a rosy dusk all sorts of snug. From the end of a sofa, in the shadow, two cat’s eyes glinted. Goshiki would have thought of a lynx or a panther, if not for straight, chin-length hair dyed blond and black, and a laptop balanced on pajama-clad knees.

“Hi Kenma!” said Hinata.

“Meet Hokki’s little protégé, my longtime friend Kenma!” said Kuroo.

“Hi,” said Goshiki.

“Hi,” the boy answered simply, before he clapped his laptop and put it aside on the sofa. Then he nestled back, cross-legged, and grabbed a pillow to hug, eyes turning to Hinata expectantly.

“So you won’t believe how I met Goshiki here…” Hinata started and he had everyone’s whole and undivided attention.

* * *

Drinks weren’t really helping Goshiki quell his nervousness—not that they weren’t good, they were, sweet and exotic and sparkling and refreshing and all _fancy_ , but they lacked the essential quality that any alcoholic beverage should have—that is to say, alcohol.

Nonetheless, he was doing a good job, he thought, at keeping his signature look naturally sharp, sometimes scowling, sometimes relaxed, thoughtful when he ought to be answering a question, determined when he’d rather keep the answer to himself, and whatnot.

Still Shirabu entered the equation. Goshiki was never a good judge of character, and of all the STZ brothers, he often found Shirabu to be the most unreadable. Having him so close and in this circumstance, sharing this part of his life—they were all gay men there, closeted withal—gave Goshiki the occasion of a rare sight, one that he’d never seen and that he would hold dearly in his memory: a shy, sheepish Shirabu.

_Shirabu is gay!_

Goshiki winced at the sudden thought, but thankfully no one noticed. What were the odds? Shirabu, right here in the flesh, leaning back in his seat, bare ankles crossed and hands in his pockets, looking so smooth and tranquil, bathed as he was in dim lighting and timeless furniture… such a queer scenery.

On the sofa next to Goshiki, Hoshiumi had Kenma’s feet in his lap, which he was gently kneading and massaging, while Shirabu was sitting across from the table near Kageyama and Hinata—those two were half-cuddling, half-bickering. On Goshiki’s other side, Kuroo was constantly cracking stupid jokes and obscure puns that no one understood except for Hoshiumi.

“Why didn’t you take Chem again?” Shirabu asked after a joke that, according to Hoshiumi, “sucked so friggin much that it blew.”

“Cuz he likes going to parties when everyone else’s hosed out of their minds,” said Hinata.

“As if _you_ ’re any different! Always scouting the streets, scattering bait everywhere for new disaster…” Kuroo waved at Goshiki “…jocks to join the party, that shit’s dangerous! How can you find the time to study _and_ put us at risk?”

“Hey! I’m always extremely careful! And _I_ was the one to bring your Sloanie ass here, if not for me you wouldn’t have met Yaku-san! Show some gratitude!”

“Fiine, fine” Kuroo raised two hands in surrender, “…but, as if Hokki’s any different!”

“…what do I have to do with it?” Hoshiumi said.

“Come on, you had two rippers in a week, didn’t you?”

“…no I didn’t.”

“Yakkun told me.”

“…well maybe I did, so what? It’s not like I can skip these.” 

Kuroo scoffed.

Hoshiumi added, “I’d like to see what you’d do if you had to deal with that New Harvard Clubs shit.”

“Here we go again…”

“If I don’t go they’ll suspect something! They’re gonna send someone to cut me in haref!”

There was a loud silence after that last intense, indignant word, and everyone—even Kenma—looked at Hoshiumi with the start of a smile.

“…what?”

“You’ve got an accent, Hoshiumi,” said Hinata.

“ _No I don’t!_ ”

“That’s the reason behind your nickname, you know…” said Shirabu.

“What?”

“Ho- _kki_ , like car keys—sorry, _khakis_ —” said Kuroo.

“No it’s not! I know it’s not! Kenma, tell them it’s not! And I don’t have an accent, I’m sure I don’t! You should listen to the friggin Miya twins at Lowell or, or—or Yaku when he’s pissed, that’s a friggin accent! He’s going all red and cock…-knee or whateva it’s called.”

“And how would you spell that? how would you spell Cockney?” said Kuroo, already giggling and cackling.

“I don’t _know_ , leave me alone!”

Kuroo went on, “Bawstin ain’t nawth! New Hampsha’s up nawth in wintah! Ain’t no blizzid here! Those igits from Noo Yok bettah come wid some bea’ and ha’d liquah and pizzers!”

“ _Stop making fun of me!_ Someone, help! Kod, make him stop!”

“Uh-uh, m’busy,” said Kenma, absorbed by something he was doing on his phone.

Hoshiumi turned to his other side, “Gags, help!”

“Can we stop with the fucking nicknames already?” Kageyama said. “They’re annoying and no one’s using them.”

“Huh? I am! I think they’re wicked cool!” said Hoshiumi.

“We all know it’s because there’s a guest and you just want to show off,” Kageyama snapped.

“Hey the guest has a name, Meanieyama!” said Hinata.

“Whatever—you’re all so loud,” said Kageyama, before locking eyes with Goshiki for a few seconds.

Kageyama appeared to be the least open and friendly of the bunch, probably because he wasn’t very talkative—a quality much appreciated by Goshiki in this circumstance; and it seemed that the two of them had come to a tacit agreement: don’t bother me, and I won’t bother you. Better still, it seemed that Kageyama could read the unspoken unease, the tension in Goshiki’s bearing, and chose to respect it with mindful reserve.

“I could use some real drinks for a change,” said Kageyama.

_Thank you, dark-grumpy-and-handsome-type!_

“Me too!” said Goshiki.

“Oooh, now we’re talking! How about a drinking game?” said Hinata.

“Mercy, no!” Hoshiumi said. “All of your MIT drinking games are so friggin complicated.”

“How very surprising! As if everyone at Harvard was acting so pompous, when in fact they could only understand _Never Have I Ever_ …” said Kuroo.

“…we don’t even have alcohol here,” said Shirabu.

“Fucking losers…”

“Actually, yes we do!” said Hinata, jumping to his feet and toward the counter where he left his backpack.

He came back with a grin and a pale green bottle. Large, bold white letters read “Chartreuse” on its black label.

“Where did you st—”

“Can you grab me shot glasses, Tobio?” Hinata said softly with a fleeting, loving touch of knuckles on Kageyama’s cheek.

Sometimes there’d be these short moments of affection between Kageyama and Hinata, or between Hoshiumi and Kenma; moments they’d only share in the comfort of their burrow, in the trust of their friends. Every time, it made a warm current buzz and swell in Goshiki’s core.

From what he’d gathered so far, Hoshiumi and Kenma were dating, and so were Kageyama and Hinata; Kuroo was involved with that _Yaku_ person, who wasn’t there, and Shirabu didn’t show interest in any of them.

But what if? What if Shirabu had someone? What if he had someone he’d share these fugitive moments with, that were worth an eternity? The thought filled him with envy, not… with the wish for someone else to be happy, in his stead—however selfish that was, he didn’t care.

“I know! I think we should play the nicknaming game!” said Hinata.

“What, already? We’ve barely just met him—no offense,” said Kuroo.

“It’s fine,” Hoshiumi said, “he’s safe.”

“Oh…? Hm… Well then,” Kuroo rubbed his chin, “I propose _shark-shod shietsy_!”

“That’s _mean!_ ” Hinata screeched.

“Shark-shod shellfish, then!” Kuroo said.

“Don’t get started,” Shirabu stepped in, “and all cocky, Tetsurou. You were pretty shy last year with Yaku around. Now…”

“…now you’re as loud as Hoshiumi when he’s beaten Kenma at Smash,” said Kageyama.

“Tsch!”

“…and that’s not how the game works anyway!” said Hinata.

He turned to Goshiki.

“We need data before Kenma gives you a proper nickname. Someone asks a question about you, someone else answers, if they’re right—or if you don’t want them to answer—you chug! Otherwise they chug. Game ends when Kenma finds the name. Wanna try?”

A quick scan of the room to find the most familiar face.

Shirabu bore the unreadable look Goshiki had seen so many times at volleyball practice before he got snapped at, but this time there was no real bite in it, only expectancy.

“No pressure, man! We can always get jolly drunk now if you’d like to have your nickname another time,” said Kuroo.

Hinata was right—everyone was making this so much more comfortable than Goshiki had expected, even that tall brash nerd with his big mouth and emo fringe.

“No, I’m fine, let’s try it! I want my nickname!” Goshiki said, a challenge in his voice.

Kenma slid his feet from Hoshiumi’s lap and sat back alongside him, knees brought up under his chin, his partner’s hand in his own.

“Game on!” Hinata said. “Who’s going first? Hokki?”

“Sure! Hm… So what’s his type?”

Goshiki shifted on his seat a little.

“I think I can answer that!” Hinata said before long. “Can I?”

“You have to chug now if you don’t want him to,” Shirabu said.

“No, I’m not backing off now! Fire away,” Goshiki said.

“I think… he likes… athletic men but occasionally he’ll fall for a twink! He’s really not into the effeminate type, though. Possibly has a soft spot for guys with a… um… fair complexion?”

_What the… How… Oh well._

Goshiki took the shot from the table, drank it in one gulp and…

“Caref—”

…coughed.

“—ful…”

He understood why it was only half a shot with the way it burned his throat—it was strong, indeed, but it didn’t feel like any other liquor he’d tried before, namely vodka and whisky, as it had a surprising kick of dry summer and herbal tea, stinging almost minty against the back of his palate.

“Any comments?” Kuroo asked.

“No comment,” Goshiki replied, red creeping up his cheeks.

“You alright? Wanna continue?” Hinata asked, ready to pour another shot.

Goshiki nodded.

“Well then,” Kuroo said, “what’s his favorite color?”

“Easy,” Shirabu said, “it’s purple.”

Goshiki instantly took the shot.

Hinata and Hoshiumi exchanged a look.

Shirabu shuffled on his spot between the two, looking uncomfortable.

“Now, my turn,” said Shirabu. “Why is he here?”

An eyebrow raised, a dark glare to the side; the question was more or less directed at Hinata. It wasn’t really phrased as a reproach, yet it carried a bite that could not be mistaken, let alone by Goshiki. However… Shirabu’s low voice and scowl did not have the same dreadful power here as it had on court.

“Because he’s fucking done with running away. And he wants to have some fucking shots,” Kageyama said, no ire and no fear behind a blue glower.

A silence.

Goshiki grabbed the bottle to pour himself another shot but Hinata stopped him.

“Hey, you just had two in like, ten seconds, take that instead and you’ll owe him a shot later.”

Goshiki took whatever Hinata’s hand was holding and gulped it down, not paying mind to what Shirabu had to object—… _not supposed to chug on half-truths_ —and drowned in the substance. It was fresh and thick and plummy, like a cold shower in a pool of nectar. The redhead was, of course and as usual, right.

“You’re all wicked smart,” Goshiki said in a poor imitation of Hoshiumi that sounded more British than Bostonian.

Everyone laughed.

“Now that really sounded like Yaku,” Hoshiumi said. “I mean, Bolt. I mean, whateva. Hope you’ll see him soon, Tetsurou.”

They were silent again.

“Yeah… Me too.”

“He misses you,” Kenma said softly and Kuroo didn’t look up, caught up in something that seemed deep and difficult.

“I know. I miss him, too.”

Goshiki thought it almost surreal how fast the air around them could turn successively bright and dim, light and heavy, how fast their laughter could ring out and die down. It was as if their little knot of friends had reached a level of mutual understanding that always entailed grace and compassion.

Kenma turned to glance at Hinata.

“Hm—Well! We’re not done yet! Yamayama, wanna ask a question?” Hinata asked.

“Yes, actually. How many volleyball tournaments have you won? Talking high school,” Kageyama said.

“Oooh, that’s a difficult one!”

“Looks like someone else wants a shot.”

“Tsch! I’d just fix myself one if I wanted.”

“You’ve never played against him, Hokki?”

“No sir.”

“Look, we all know who’s the most qualified to answer the question anyway,” Kuroo said.

Shirabu felt all eyes turn to him. He sighed.

“I… know Goshiki won one in senior year. So, I’m gonna say two.”

“Goshiki?”

Now, coming from Shirabu, this was more than a compliment. 

This meant, if he had it right, that Shirabu thought Goshiki was _better_ than what the actual evidence suggested—that he thought so highly of him, of his ability on the court despite everything that happened outside, that he was willing to _bet_ on it.

But that wasn’t all. 

Goshiki remembered bragging about a tournament he won during his last year in California, before moving to Boston. Shirabu had told him off, scolded him—rather harshly—, told him he needed to step up his game if he wanted to have anything to show off at all. It was only a short exchange, and Goshiki never mentioned a tournament, ever again. But he remembered, and Shirabu remembered, too.

“I won three, actually.”

Goshiki tried to suppress a smug, boastful smile—and he failed miserably—when he announced it.

“Gwah!”

“Nice.”

“That’s pissa.”

“…dammit.”

“…”

“And that’s a shot for Shirabu, our beloved goldberry!”

“Fuck you, Tetsurou.”

“—and also one for mister nice gags here.”

“Ditto.”

Goshiki wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation. He kept his eyes riveted to Shirabu and Shirabu’s hand, Shirabu’s neck and throat when he threw his head back, to his Adam’s apple when it slid up and down, to the way he fixed his hair afterward with a deft finger and a slight shake of the head.

“…oshiki?” Hinata’s voice called him back to reality.

“Hm?”

“I think we have one last question… Kenma?”

“Bring it!”

“What’s your given name?” Kenma asked.

There was a long silence again and no chug.

Kenma was fixing Goshiki intensely.

…

“Tsutomu,” Shirabu said under his breath, eyes closed.

_Shit._

_It wasn’t—I didn’t—I wasn’t forcing you to say it!_

Goshiki poured himself his third shot and drank it in one go—this time Hinata didn’t stop him. It burned all the way down his throat.

_…please say that name again someday._

The room was then very quiet for an unspecified amount of time.

Then…

“Got it,” Kenma said, “got the name.”

“So, what is it!?” Hinata said excitedly.

“C’m on, tell us,” Hoshiumi pressed.

“…Tom Bowlbadil,” Kenma said flatly.

“That’s… oddly unexpected,” Kuroo said.

“I think it’s perfect!” Hoshiumi said.

“Hmm,” Hinata pondered, “I get it that Tom comes from Tsu _tom_ u; bowl, well that’s obvious where ‘bowl’ comes from… But… What’s it got to do with Tom Bombadil?… Hm… Oooh, I think I’ve got it! It’s because of Shirabu’s nickname!”

“Is it? Hm… Oh, yeah, of course. Well spotted!” said Kuroo.

_Hey! I know it! Shirabu’s nickname is…_

“River?” Goshiki asked.

“How’d you know that?” Shirabu snapped.

_Shit._

“I must’ve slipped it,” Hoshiumi said, and Shirabu didn’t protest further, “but it’s only a part of it. The full nickname is b—… Sorry, it’s, bitter-river-daughter”—Kuroo scoffed—“and it’s a reference to Goldberry, who’s… Well she’s related to Tom Bombadil.”

Shirabu sighed.

“Related—how? I’ve never heard of them,” Goshiki said with a frown.

“Ugh, I’m so done with all of you, this is ridic— _hey_ , Tetsurou! Don’t light a cigarette here, you know I hate that! Fuck it, I’m—I need some air.”

Shirabu got to his feet and left the room, stomping out and into one of the corridors.

“Wicked gross mental fit,” Hoshiumi said.

“Seen much worse,” Kenma replied. He got up very shortly, and set to follow Shirabu wherever he disappeared, leaving the five of them alone and a kiss on the top of Hoshiumi’s head. “Later, Kourai.”

“Later.”

They all sighed—all, but Goshiki.

“You can put it out, now, I think,” Hinata said to Kuroo.

“Yeah.”

He played with the cigarette absentmindedly before crushing it in a dry cocktail glass. A shadow crossed his face, token of a thousand thoughts.

Kuroo looked tired.

How not to be? When the night grows long and late and lonely, and the grit grows frail, and the words die quicker than the nerves. It’s where they were, Tetsurou, Tsutomu; gutless, stranded on a sea of soft fabric and sofas.

“Tsutomu?”

Goshiki’s hand, along with the bottle it was holding, stopped mid-air when he heard Hoshiumi’s voice say his name from the counter.

“Come here. I got something for you.”

* * *

“How long?”

“How long what?” Shirabu growled.

“How long have you been interested in him?”

It was pointless to feign ignorance. These sharp, keen amber eyes could see through the thickest dark, pierce through the tightest heart.

Shirabu let out a deep breath that formed a small cloud of steam, barely visible in the moonless night. The hour had grown chilly.

“Rush week.”

“That’s a long time,” Kenma said.

“I know.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.”

Shirabu rested his forearms on the cold balcony rail, his sight on the horizon; troubled thoughts meandered to the sound of the leaves, to the depth of water.

“You don’t have a choice now.”

“Lookit, I know what you’ve all been trying to do, and it pisses me. It pisses me that you’re all so fucking smart, and it pisses me that we’re living in a universe where you’ve found _him_ , of all people. And brought him _here_. You know exactly what I am and you’re trying to shove it in my face. Now I feel like… like I’m in fucking debt. Like I’m not even given a choice.”

“You know that’s not the way it wo—”

“I know.”

“…You know I’d never take the initiative if you weren’t so obvi—”

“I _know_.”

“I look at you and I see Tetsurou.”

“…”

There was a light gust of wind down the river, and a dance of the trees, a rustle of the breeze through the foliage underneath, and it came back—flashes of Kuroo and Yaku, sharing hot drinks at Dunks, arguing over plans and prospects, laughing at their own silly jokes, yearning. Laugh lines under Yaku’s eyes, Kuroo’s hands running excitedly when he’d talk about the memories they’d made in London. _Tetsurou_ , making it and blowing it.

“Whatever it is you want, it’s not going to happen if you don’t give it a chance.”

“…yeah. I know.”

* * *

The color of Goshiki’s cheeks had its mysterious ways that science could not explain.

One moment they’d flush bright pink—and that would be the sign of nervousness or embarrassment, in the wake of a blunder, in the hazy mist of sweat and muscles, following forbidden glances in the shower room—the moment after, they’d tone down to a darker hue of rosy red as a result of getting cheered or praised.

There was only one case when he’d turn beet red, and that was when he’d be having drinks. In fact, it was one of the two reasons why Goshiki had never let himself drink at parties until he came of age—the other being that he disliked the taste. It wasn’t immediate, still it was desperately inevitable: gets a drink, turns red. Every single time. Even just a glass— _oh, did they serve alcohol?_ the voice of his father echoed and he winced at the memory. 

Maybe it was because his body had some sort of trouble assimilating alcohol, and maybe it had to do with his Korean roots, he didn’t know; but at this place and hour he couldn’t possibly care.

He just wanted to drown in it.

“Why are you so sad?”

It was said quietly, yet Hoshiumi’s voice rang in his head, louder than ever.

For a moment, Goshiki was at a loss for words. 

“I… I’m not _sad_. I’m just really tired is all.”

“Tough week?”

“…yeah, you could say that.”

“That’s beat. Bet Hinata’s scavenger hunt didn’t help.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got the cute looks but he’s not going easy on any of us. What else?”

“What do you mean, ‘what else’? I’m just f…ucking drained. That’s it.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll figure it out. Walk your own way, get it out your system all by yourself—or nawt. Nothing wrong in it.”

The usual song to Hoshiumi’s words had died out; the upward inflection at the end of his sentences had gone down. He seemed strangely grave and solemn, so Goshiki looked at him, silently questioning.

“Hey, volleynahd.”

_Uh? What was that?… Oh. Volley nerd._

Goshiki didn’t really understand what happened afterward.

There was a strong tug at his shirt, a cold touch to his collarbone, a warm hand on the side of his neck; a jerk of the head and a dry crash of lips.

It lasted a few dumbfounded seconds, during which it felt… weird.

It wasn’t particularly anything.

Just weird.

Vaguely warm, vaguely damp.

Mostly weird.

Hoshiumi swiftly broke it and the silence that came after, face completely neutral.

“They say the first kiss is the worst. Now it’s out of the way… Go get some air! There’s a great view of the Charles River from the balcony.”

Hoshiumi pushed him mercilessly toward the low arch Kenma had just emerged from.

Goshiki was resigned, but not so dense. He knew exactly where he’d be walking to—to his own demise, he thought.

“Go!”

“Ow!” Goshiki yelped, propelled forward by a forceful knee.

After he passed Kenma in the corridor, the smaller boy gestured something to Hoshiumi, wiggling his fingers in the air, which meant along the lines of, _success! I played him like a piano._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goshiki has never read LotR… He doesn’t know what he’s missing!  
> Though, if you ask Kageyama, he’ll say it doesn’t matter at all where their nicknames come from… but that’s just because he’s still mad at kod cat-clawed and hokki soar-at-sea for calling him “mister nice gags.”
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this far! You’re not ready for what comes next…


	5. Through Moor and Waste

He thought it would vanish at Shirabu’s sight, within the reach of his voice, in his company. In his arms.

But with every new step he took, it was still there.

As if what he desired most was near at hand, but bound to slip away, any minute. It was some sort of weight that had accumulated silently over the years, that had begun to plague his every thought of the future.

In all fairness, there was too much on Goshiki’s mind for him to put it precisely into words. Everything that happened the week before—his crush was gay, except it wasn’t him, except he was gay after all, and what ifs, and what next—how do relationships work? how do they work when you have to live in hiding?—dealing with the family, dealing with the frat, with the volleyball team, keeping up with his crazy workload—assuming he had a chance with Shirabu in the first place. So much to deal with, that he couldn’t catch up.

“You’ve been…”

_ Oh, shit. _

Shirabu was trying to start a conversation.

_ Quick, act natural! No, not natural… Act cool! _

“…not as loud as usual,” Shirabu said.

“Oh.”

Goshiki felt a weird tingle run up his ears—he was still overwhelmed, but far from being the maudlin kind of drunk, he was also smitten to his core. Now the only way to make the difference between a Goshiki after a few drinks, and a _flustered_ Goshiki after a few drinks, was to look at his ears, as Shirabu would find out.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“…no.”

“Stupid.”

There was a light punch to Goshiki’s shoulder, and a sigh.

Two pairs of elbows rested on the railing—two shades of tan under too short sleeves; fine arms, toned by practice, shivered in the chill. Two shocks of hair ruffled in the wind, polar opposites, like copper and coal.

Goshiki had his hands joined and propping his chin so he could look up ahead, above the far bank of the river and straight to the horizon that disappeared behind trees and old Bostonian buildings and the shy shimmer of streetlights through the leaves; in his air a worn defiance.

Shirabu leaned heavier on his elbows, further from the edge of the balcony. His face was serious as he trailed his fingers carelessly over wrought iron, forming paths in the thin layer of dew.

After a while, Goshiki felt another _thud_ to his shoulder, softer but heavier.

“I’m still gonna be demanding on the court, I hope you understand that.”

He felt the vibration of Shirabu’s voice against the bony edge of his shoulder where he was resting his head.

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched to mild and comfortable lengths, the only witness above them a starry sky partly hiding behind the windswept clouds.

“I’m still gonna be the ace,” Goshiki said weakly but with the hint of a challenge. “The best you’ve seen.”

There was a soft laugh and a hum, and then they were silent again.

“So what’s it like? California,” Shirabu said.

“Hm. Hot. And sunny.”

“That where you got your tan?”

Goshiki tipped his head down as if to check himself, careful not to disturb the peaceful warmth leaning on his side.

“I… guess? I’ve played beach a little. It’s very different. Kinda cool, but I like it better when I’m on a steady ground.”

“Do you miss it?”

Goshiki rested his forearms on the railing, wrists hanging loosely over the edge.

The cold bite of the wind was beginning to sting his cheeks and ears.

“Nah.”

“I’d def—” Shirabu was cut short by a loud noise coming from the inside. They both turned around—and suddenly Goshiki’s shoulder felt very cold.

“Ugh. And I thought tonight would be quiet,” said Shirabu.

The door to the balcony cracked open and a sheepish head poked through.

“Hey. I think we’ve got company,” Hinata announced.

From the common room, heated voices could be heard—“ _How did you get in! Who let you?_ ”—“ _Oh shut it! Tell me where the f—You! Where the hell have you been you bloody c*nt!_ ”—in what turned out to be a display of the finest English vocabulary, with colors of thorns and fawns and a distinctive speech come down the Thames and overseas.

“Care to see a tearful reunion?” Hinata added.

“No. I’m gonna get going,” said Shirabu.

“Back to the ’Tute already?” Hinata asked.

“Yeah. It’s getting late.”

“Can I come along?”

Goshiki asked it in such a shy and gentle manner, something that was so unlike him that Shirabu took a bit longer to answer.

“Of course.”

* * *

The brief sight of Kuroo and Yaku, tightly enlaced, and the sound of ugly crying and sobbing and barely coherent apologies must have done something to him—well Goshiki wasn’t exactly back to his usual self, all brash and forward and excited and all over the place, but now he was all _questions_.

Which was progress; only, an unexpected form of it. Shirabu wasn’t used to doing all the talking. It required a lot of energy.

“…and what do you think of Hinata?”

“Hm… I don’t know him that well. But he’s sweet. And kinda clever—he knows his way around people.”

Shirabu’s voice was slightly muffled, with his chin tucked under the collar of his varsity jacket.  He kicked a pebble to the side, where it made a light _clink_ against a metal post.

“…what about Hokki?”

“I think he’s a genius. Sometimes he sounds stupid but that’s just because he’s so good at so many other things.”

“Like what?”

“He’s a great athlete, he’s super sharp, his writing is crazy good, he can beat Kenma at videogames…”

“He draws, too.”

“Does he?”

“Uh… yeah…” Goshiki rubbed his neck.

“Well if he draws as he writes I’ll definitely check that next time huh.”

There was a soft laugh, partly muffled by Shirabu’s jacket.

“Anyway, he caused quite the ruckus last year when he tried to take down one of the new Harvard’s clubs—it’s complicated, there’s been… bribery over admissions, harassment… Hokki likes dealing with that kind of shit.”

“What did he tell you? When we first met at the, uh… Winthrop?… house?”

“You mean in private? Nothing special, he just wanted to know a bunch of things about you.”

“Like what?”

“Ugh. If you could be trusted, basically. Where I know you from, what you’re like, where you come from… He asked if you knew anyone from Caltech.”

“Caltech?”

“I think he knows someone from there. Childhood friends or whatever. Told him I wasn’t your auntie and I didn’t know all your acquaintances.”

A peaceful silence settled back between them and over the tree-lined boulevard, the occasional car drifting by.

They’d been walking for half an hour already, preferring a long hike alongside the river that wound its way south and around residential districts before it looped back, east and all the way to the MIT student halls of Memorial Drive. Not that the sight of the city past the historic center displeased them, although it was indeed rather packed and clogged with bleak, dull constructions of concrete; and not that they particularly enjoyed the cold of April’s northern nights, either—judging by the way Goshiki kept his arms straight against his sides, hands clenched tight in his pockets—blame his laughably light clothing.

But they naturally, tacitly agreed that they found the presence of running water beside them comforting. As if they could simply loosen up and unwind, and let the flow carry them, and let themselves drift home.

“Where’s your dorm, by the way?” Goshiki asked after they passed the first bunch of the student halls.

“Baker House.”

Goshiki didn’t say anything but looked surprised, a question tingling his lips.

“I haven’t moved with the other upperclassmen from STZ yet. I’m sharing a room with a freshman,” said Shirabu.

“Who’s that?”

“Kindaichi Yuutarou.”

“Really?”

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he’s a good friend! He’s in my study group with Tsukki and Kunimi.”

Shirabu nodded.

“He’s a really nice guy. There’s some… business going on between him and Kageyama—no, not what you think. I’ve been trying to mediate for a bit, but Kageyama’s too fucking stupid about it.”

“Oh.”

“He’ll grow out of it someday, but it pains me to see how Kindaichi’s still affected sometimes… Are you cold?”

Goshiki had been shivering a bit along the way, but right now he was shaking.

Shirabu stopped in his tracks.

“Are you okay?”

Shirabu reached for his arm, put a hand on his shoulder blade. Goshiki was looking at the ground. His legs faltered. He crouched.

Shirabu crouched with him, a hand still on his back.

“Do you hear me?”

Goshiki nodded.

“Want me to call an ambulance?”

Goshiki shook his head.

He brought his hands to his face, eyes shut.

He thought he had done great so far.

He could not let himself go now. It had been so long since he last cried.

And what would Shirabu think of him?

This would be the worst, least romantic ending to a _not_ -date turned into an intimate walk that felt _so nice_ , and Shirabu must hate him now, as if it wasn’t the case before, and now Goshiki would be a freak in his eyes forever. But that didn’t matter.

He let out a sob.

Just one.

Shirabu must have heard it, because next thing Goshiki knew, he felt something brush his forearm—probably the hem of Shirabu’s jacket—and a soft cloth land on his shoulders and cover his neck, still warm from being worn by someone else.

“C’m here.”

The moment after, he had Shirabu’s arm around his shoulder and Shirabu’s jaw against his forehead, and Shirabu’s other hand clasping his waist.

It felt funny at first, because on the one hand, Goshiki didn’t want anyone to take pity on him, he didn’t want to be seen like this, so weak and vulnerable; yet on the other hand, he would give his eyeteeth for a hug with Shirabu, for a chance to get lost in his scent and arms. Then Goshiki felt something break in the back of his mind, in the gears of his judgment; as if suddenly those two things weren’t contradicting anymore.

“Here, it’s okay.”

Goshiki snorted.

He tried to dry his eyes and reached tentatively around Shirabu’s upper back, trying to drown himself in a clumsy embrace. His cheeks and fingers were sort of wet, he realized, and his nose was runny; he was sure he would leak against Shirabu’s shoulder. He’d try not to.

They stayed there for a while, almost on their knees. The air on the riverbank was cold and foggy, and the city lights bathed them in a deep yellow that made them glow eerily bright and dark, two polar ends of the same color, and soon Goshiki’s eyes were wet again, but he didn’t cry.

“Do you think you can get up?”

_ Oh. _

That would mean their moment was over, surely.

_ Already… _

So long, for being a faint of heart, for making people hug him out of pity.

“Hm-hm.”

They finally got up, and Goshiki didn’t let go when they were standing, and strangely, neither did Shirabu.

Instead, he fitted his head nicely into the crook of Goshiki’s neck.

Shirabu was shorter by a few centimeters, yet even with Goshiki’s head resting all its weight against him, they slotted rather comfortably, and when Shirabu spoke, his warm breath brushed against the nape of Goshiki’s neck, and Goshiki shivered.

“Do you want…  Fuckit, I can’t believe I’m doing this. …do you want a song?”

Goshiki’s arms clutched him tighter. “Yeah.”

They were close to the student halls. If Goshiki had been the one to sing at that hour, it is probable that many of their fellow undergraduates would have heard him, judging by the way even footsteps echoed against the pavement and onto the empty boulevard—and also, by the way Goshiki had little control over his own volume.

Shirabu’s voice went up, at first a soothing buzz just loud enough that Goshiki could feel it against his chest; then, the trembling gone, it raised more confident, vibrating deep down to his ribs and guts, and up along his collarbone and to the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t in a language known to Goshiki. He could barely make out the sounds and he didn’t understand a single word; and he would be utterly incapable of singing it from memory, but still it went to a simple tune, and it carried a familiar melody, a unique way of the tongue and teeth that could come from nowhere else.

“…agus fós arís dá n-abarainn… gach aird faoin ré…”

_ …and if only I could name… all the places on Earth… _

“Mo chreach, mo chumha ina n-easnamh siúd… do fágadh mé…”

_ Woe is me, my agony in that loss… I was abandoned… _

“Is mór an gála marbhna… agus cás liom é…”

_ Alone in that most cursed gale… and I was left to grieve… _

“Scoirim ar mo labharthaibh, cé chrádar mé…”

_ I put a stop to my words, which afflicted me… _

“Is nó cuirfead aon ní ar fharraige… go brách lem ré.”

_ And I shan’t send by sea… nothing again as I live. _

“Moladh le rí na farraige, mo shláinte arís do chasadh orm…”

_ Praise to the king of the oceans, I regained my health… _

“Is an fhoireann úd ón anaithe, gan bá theacht saor.”

_ And from the storm our crew, without drowning, safely returned. _

By the end of the song, when Shirabu fell silent, Goshiki’s breath was steadier, and his lips were dry.

“A—are you Irish?”

Shirabu hummed softly, amused.

“I’m not Irish, stupid, I just know this one because my mom used to sing it to me.”

“What’s it about?”

“Hm… It’s about a sailor who lost his books to the sea.”

“Oh. W—Was he a scholar?”

“He was a teacher.”

Shirabu moved gingerly from under Goshiki’s hold until they broke their embrace.

“Did he get his books back?”

“No,” Shirabu replied, and that sounded final. “Where’s your dorm, lil’ bowl cut?”

Goshiki looked at his feet, brows knit in a shy sulk.

“MacGregor House.”

“We passed it, idiot. It was two blocks ago.” Shirabu suppressed a sigh. “Come, let’s go.”

He put an arm around Goshiki’s waist and led him forward, gentle but resolute.

* * *

“My jacket.”

“Oh.”

Goshiki tried to take it off as one would a t-shirt, and he struggled with it so badly that Shirabu couldn’t repress a chuckle before he gave him a hand.

Goshiki finally emerged from Shirabu’s jacket, disheveled and flustered to his ears, half out of his polo. There was a glimpse of his bare torso and well-toned abs, that was worth all the many stolen glances in the volleyball locker room, then Goshiki tucked his polo back into his jeans, his hair still a mess.

“Ugh.  Why are you so cute. ”

“’m not cute,” Goshiki said weakly.

Shirabu blushed a little, and went to fix Goshiki’s hair along his bowl line and the longer locks on the side. His touch was warm and delicate, and the pads of his fingers burned hot against cold-bitten ears.

He was perfect.

His t-shirt was a soft shade of dark teal and midnight blue, contrasting his fair skin and bangs and big brown eyes, perfectly; like a deep blue sea crashing over a golden shore, and the morning sun reflecting on the brine, and the sparkling of dust in pearly steam, and his laugh, bright and blond, an eerie light streaming all around—it was perfect.

_ Oh well. _

“I like you,” Goshiki said.

“…go to sleep.”

“No.”

Goshiki’s fists were clenched and his breath was quick.

Shirabu blinked. He brought his brows up, sign that he understood it was a serious matter, and that he was listening closely.

“I’ve liked you for a long time.”

There was a short silence, the most dreadful Goshiki had ever heard.

“How long?”

Shirabu stayed composed but his own nerves were going thin and threadbare.

“I don’t know. Long.” Goshiki looked to the side, leaning on the door to MacGregor House. “At least midterm.”

His eyes were not watery, but they gleamed with a troubled light; and his voice wasn’t trembling, yet it faltered at the end.

He was trying to get this over with.

“Fuck,” Shirabu said, following Goshiki’s gaze. “Is that the reason why… you…”

Goshiki shook his head negatively.

“…okay.”

“Sorry. You must think I’m a freak, right?”

“No. Of course not. Go to sleep, I’ll come see you tomorrow. Are you gonna make it to your room?”

“Yeah. Sorry about my breakdown earlier. Could you… could you forget it happened?”

“Yeah.”

“G’night Shirabu.”

There was still a question between them, left dangling in the air; something restless trying to break free from a tangle of nerves and hopes. They could both read it when they locked eyes again.

“Goodnight, Goshiki.”

There was more silence.

None of them moved.

One of them sighed.

Then Shirabu looked to his left; and then he looked to his right, as if he was going to cross the road; and then he took a step.

Time froze.

There was a peck on Goshiki’s lips, sore from the cold.

The ball of Shirabu’s thumb on his jaw, its tip on his cheekbone.

The sound of Shirabu’s jacket slipping to the ground, the touch of his other hand to Goshiki’s other cheek.

Shirabu on his lips again.

When Hoshiumi had said that one’s first kiss was always a disaster, he was right. There was nothing _quite_ like a second kiss.

A kiss with someone that mattered—and everything that came with it. The heart pounding out of his chest and into his throat, the breath short, the buzzing stomach. The _chills_. Something of the present that can’t be grasped by words.

It wasn’t damp. There was no tongue, only the touch of skin and the brushing and nipping of lips, almost soundless, and the promise of something new. A new beginning, maybe. Something beyond the here and now, beyond the troubles to come; a proof of his will, to sail the storm-swept sea, to look beyond its swell and tide.

It was beautiful.

Goshiki had his eyes closed, but he _knew_ it was beautiful. He’d swear, if Copernicus had been there he would have named a constellation after it.

  
  


When Shirabu broke the kiss, Goshiki had his back pressed against the door, his hands on Shirabu’s hips, and a burning tingle on his lips.

_ Fuck. Is this even real? _

Goshiki raised his left hand to make sure, grazing Shirabu’s cheek and temple with the back of his fingers, on the side where his fringe was longer.

“Go to sleep.”

Goshiki didn’t listen and surged forward.

If he’d had any doubt, he would have hated it. But there was no doubt now. Shirabu wouldn’t do that out of pity. He wasn’t backing off, and he wasn’t pushing him away, and oh, he had his eyes closed, too.

Goshiki had been delicate. He had given proof enough that he was being serious and considerate, but now he wanted a bit more—just a bit.

He held Shirabu so tightly in his arms, he pressed himself so heartily against his face and mouth that Shirabu let out a groan. But he didn’t protest, or pull back, at least for the next minute.

By the time they parted again, Goshiki was dizzy as if he’d had his head washed cold under a waterfall, and feverish as if he’d passed the whole day in hot springs.

“Fuck,” Shirabu whispered, wiping a sleeve across his mouth. “Get a hold of yourself, it’s… We could be seen here.”

“’m sorry.”

“Go to sleep, lil bowl-cut. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“’morrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much dreemy for drawing this scene!!!
> 
> How many more secret meetings, just the two of them? How many morning jogs side by side, how many stolen glances turned into hidden kisses, how many artful tricks to share a room? How many blunders and insults and making up because Goshiki was doing his best and Shirabu didn’t really mean it?
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. Epilogue—Down is Up

A heavy _bang_ echoed from the foot of Baker House, but it wasn’t as loud as in Goshiki’s memory.

There were the usual claps, the usual cheers, the usual flock of freshmen rushing to the wooden remains, except that time Tendou wasn’t here to run along them.

Goshiki turned to Ushijima, who was standing by their side arms crossed, looking strong and mighty as usual, vaguely interested by the show of scavenging underclassmen and falling pianos.

“You’re not gonna get a hammer for Tendou-san?” Goshiki asked.

Ushijima fixed him, very serious, and replied, “Absolutely not. Satori has never been the handyman type.”

Beside them, Shirabu snorted and tried to disguise it as a rattling cough. 

Goshiki simply answered, “Oh.”

“On a serious note,” Ushijima added, “he sends his regards, and he wants to congratulate you both. For your hard work this year, I suppose. Also, he wishes you good luck for the finals.”

“Thanks! Tell him we can’t wait to see him again!”

“Certainly.”

On his other side, Goshiki felt the discreet brush of Shirabu’s knuckles against his own, and he heard a whisper into his ear.

“Let’s go to the Winthrop leecher already.”

“Yass!” Goshiki said loudly, a smile very full of teeth.

They paid respects to their senior shortly after, and set off to the Winthrop halls by the Charles River.

They weren’t holding hands.

* * *

“Don’t move your feet, idiot. I can’t take care of it if you won’t stop wiggling.”

“Hey! Don’t try to ignore us, Kenjirou, we can see through your desperate attempts.”

“Just ignore them.”

“At least let Hokki’s artworks be of use! Let him introduce you to the many forbidden ways of love between two men and in particular—”

“Tetsu, do you have no shame? Won’t you leave them poor lads alone?” 

“But it’s important! It’s essential to any relationship! What I’m trying to say is, if during all this time, none of them has been willing to be on the receiving end, they should at least consider—”

“Not everyone has to follow your dirty ways.”

“What did you say you grumpy twat?”

“Forget it, I don’t care.”

“Anyway, it’s not as great as you make it out to be. You have to struggle a lot before you get the hang of it, even more before it gets good.”

“I know straight friends who don’t do it because they find it wicked.”

“Wicked what? Wicked hard?”

“No, just wicked.”

“What?”

“He means gross, Hokki.”

“Oh. Oh, that’s beat.”

“That’s not a good reason, though! It’s not gross!”

“Here.”

Goshiki slid his feet from Shirabu’s lap and felt his own bare toes, passing careful fingers on his nails, while Shirabu put back the file in his pocket. Goshiki could hear his lover’s voice in the cacophony no matter how low it was—it was like a superpower he had developed.

“Thank-you!” Goshiki said with a broad smile, and he nestled back against him, tossing an arm around his shoulder.

There was a soft and merry hum.

It had been long, Goshiki thought, since he’d seen Shirabu so vibrant with color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant recs and notes:
> 
> Go read [Thaw](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720139/) by peppermint_wind, [Plumage](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18869857/) by DeathBelle, [you can crash my car](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24994471) by sugarbud, [kiss me once, kiss me twice (and once again)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21045569) by tasteofsummersnow!!  
> Shirabu’s song is adapted from the poem “Amhrán na Leabhar” by Tomás Rua Ó Súilleabháin (1785-1848, public domain).  
> Don’t forget to check Dreemy’s [incredible art on Twitter](https://twitter.com/dreemyforest)!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading through this!  
> Comments are more than welcome :)


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